


Sea Dogs

by SarcasticSmiler



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Elizabethan Era, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Bilbo is a bit of a prejudiced arse in this, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gen, M/M, but really Thorin isn't much better, hinted at Fili/Kili or they're just close brothers up to you really, i'll explain some of this insanity in the notes, same gendered relationships are accepted in this verse, seriously screwing with history, the Tooks are the Tudors, the dwarves are Welsh, there's hinted at Nori/Dwalin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 08:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6696802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcasticSmiler/pseuds/SarcasticSmiler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirate AU.</p><p>Basically I’ve turned the dwarves Welsh and Bilbo English, I’ve swapped out the Tudors with the Tooks, there’s prejudice and mocking and spouted pedigrees and general butchering of the Welsh language and cargo ships in the Bristol channel, and Bard is an actual, y’know, bard who falls foul of the latest Poor Laws, and the Elves are actually South Walians who’ve been pretty much completely Anglicised, which explains why Thorin’s lot, who’re North Walian, dislike them so damn much, and somewhere in all of this a romance is sparked between two captains.</p><p>Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, as even the author isn't entirely sure where the tide will take us.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Bilbo Baggins

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of an introduction to Bilbo Baggins.
> 
> Explanations at the end.

The alehouse was almost uncomfortably warm, a fire blazing in the hearth as dozens of bodies drank, gambled, fought, and fucked.

Home to many, and avoided by more, The Prancing Pony was one of the more well-known houses in London. Close enough to Cheapside to cater to the gutter thieves and far enough away to attract the more gentlemen criminals. The food was cheap but tolerable, the ale sufficient, but the beer better.

“To the Captain!” a cheer arose, golden drops spilling from raised tankards, “Scourge of the sea and the London Courts!”

Bilbo Baggins, Captain of the _Bag End_ , smiled, nodding in gratitude to his cheering crew.

“Ah, cousin! Once again you defied the laws of man!” Primula crowed, beer sloshing over the rim of her mug to stain the velvet of Bilbo’s doublet.

“The Valar favour you, it seems,” Drogo grinned, nudging Bilbo’s other side.

“Some well-placed words in high ranked ears, and with a little gold to line their pockets, oh my dear Prim, wonders it works, I tell you. More effective than a thousand prayers from pious lips, Drogo, the Valar take little notice of me, and for that I find myself thankful.”

“Captain!” Bilbo turned to the men surrounding the gambling tables, the drink splattered tables sporting stained cards and shining die.

“Aye?”

“If luck is with you then perhaps you could test it at our table? Pray tell, do you have much skill at games?”

“I have some skill at conkers,” he shrugged.

“In our present setting I fail to see how that’s relevant,” Drogo snorted into his beer.

“Come,” with an exaggerated gestured, Bilbo was beckoned to the gambling table, “we’ll play at something simple so m’lord can understand.”

“Fine, fine,” Bilbo conceded rising from his seat, ignoring the smile hidden behind her mug and the knowing gleam in her eye, he slid past Primula.

“Sit, cap’n, sit, and I’ll show you how to play.”

Taking a seat, Bilbo lamented the fact that his silk breeches would be thoroughly ruined from being in prolonged contact with the surfaces of the less than legal establishment; but he had a drunken fool to listen too, and still being enough of a Baggins to have a distinct distaste for bad manners, he couldn’t, in good conscience, ignore the fellow when he was trying his best to explain the simple game.

“Are you cheatin’, cap’n?” a rather grubby rogue asked about an hour later, thick brows pulled down in a frown as Bilbo won the round.

“How can I cheat when I’ve only just learnt the game this evening?” Bilbo asked, piling his winnings in uneven stacks.

“You’re doin’ damn good for someone who ain’t played before.”

“Beginners luck,” Bilbo shrugged, “Besides, if I was cheating surely I’d be winning every game?”

“Yer winnin’ most,” the rogue grumbled.

“As I said, beginner’s luck.”

Three more rounds and the rogue shoved away from the table with a shout, his chair tipping backwards, “You are cheatin’! I saw ya!”

“Continue throwing around such baseless accusations and I’ll have no choice but to defend my honour from such slander,” Bilbo cautioned, eyes not leaving the table as another player rolled.

“To rot with yer ‘honour’, ya nothing but a cheatin’ cur!”

Before the die could even hit the table, Bilbo was on his feet, sword in hand, it’s tip resting below the rogue’s bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Now then,” Bilbo sighed, an unnervingly polite smile curving his lips, “I was kind enough to offer you a warning, yet you persisted in spouting such lies. That was rather rude of you.”

“Bilbo,” Drogo called, grasping the sleeve of a skittish looking messenger boy.

“Little busy right now, cousin.”

“I’m aware, yet this can’t wait. Your grandfather requests your presence at Tookhall.”

“Well then my good fellow,” Bilbo addressed the rogue trembling at the tip of his sword, “It seems you’ve been granted a royal pardon from the lesson on manners that I was so _very_ eager to teach you.”

The rogue nodded, wincing when the sharp sword dragged against his throat, the scrapes stinging on his sweat tinged skin.

“Time to go then, it was a pleasure playing with you, gentlemen,” sheathing his sword, Bilbo scooped up his winnings and handed them to Drogo, “See the crew to drink and warm bodies if need be.”

“Of course.”

Stepping outside of the alehouse, Bilbo took a moment to breathe, nose wrinkling at the smell of the city. He couldn’t wait to return to his ship and clean smell of the vast sea before him.

“Bilbo?”

He turned to Primula as she slipped out of the door, eyebrow cocked in question.

“What did you use this time? You did cheat, didn’t you?”

“Prim, you wound me,” Bilbo gasped, hand pressed to his chest in mock affront.

Primula merely raised a brow, arms crossed as she waited.

“Fine, fine, I may have tipped the odds in my favour a little. A bit of sleight of hand and a bale of gourds with as many high men as low men for passage.”

“One of these days you’re going to show me how you do that.”

“But Ladies shouldn’t know how to gamble, against their delicate sensibilities I’ve been told.”

“And you know better than to believe such hogwash, so, dear cousin mine, you _will_ teach me one day.”

“How about this? When we’ve a calm day at sea, I’ll teach you.”

“That seems acceptable,” Primula accepted hesitantly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Good, now head back inside, the Valar only know what that husband of yours is up to without you looking out for him,” Bilbo shooed her back towards the door, “I’ve a grandfather to see.”

-x-

Bilbo smiled at the rapt expressions on the faces of his little cousins, sitting on the floor before him.

“So there we were,” he continued his story while he waited for his grandfather to call for him, “the fog was thick, swirling round the deck like dancing spirits of the sea. The hull creaked under our feet as we waited. And then we saw it…”

“What, Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo gasped, practically toppling over where he eagerly leant forward.

“A light, faint in the mirky fog, but there, glowing.”

“Was it a Sackville ship?” young Pippin asked around the thumb in his mouth.

“Ssh,” Merry hushed him, shrugging his shoulder slightly where Pippin’s head was resting.

“It was indeed, Peregrin. A Sackville ship, riding low in the water. Burdened with it’s cargo of gold and silks and spices, ripe for the picking. As quietly as we could, and with our lamps doused, we came upon the unsuspecting vessel. A breath of time then _boom!_ ”

The young ones jumped, Pippin’s thumb leaving his mouth as he squeaked and grasped at Merry’s hand.

“Our cannons fired, tearing holes in the Sackville’s hull, their crew– ”

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s mouth snapped shut at the sound of his grandfather’s voice, turning, he smiled at the old man leaning against the open door, grey bushy eyebrow cocked.

“Yes, Grandfather?”

“Are you filling the young one’s head with adventures again?”

“Maybe?”

“Come,” Gerontius Took said, exasperation tinging his tone.

“We’ll have to finish this tale another day,” Bilbo apologised to his little cousins to a chorus of displeased cries, before rising to his feet and following Gerontius down the hallway to his private study.

“Sit, sit,” old Gerontius said, waving Bilbo to a chair before the heavy oak desk, while he carefully lowered himself into the one behind with a groan.

Bilbo sat, patiently waiting for his grandfather to gather his thoughts.

“You’ve been causing me no end of trouble, my lad,” he started, leaning back in his chair, clasped hands resting on his rounded stomach, “The Spanish Ambassador and their retinue is in a right old tizzy over your exploits, keep going on about how they want me to have you punished in exemplary fashion as a pirate of all things.”

“But I’m not a pirate,” Bilbo frowned, “I’m a privateer of the Crown.”

“Oh, _I_ know that, lad. Signed your Letter of Marque myself, after all. But that doesn’t mean those Sackville sycophants will acknowledge the difference.”

“Are you saying I should stop?”

“Valar, no,” Gerontius chuckled, “Though there are some who’d much prefer it if you found yourself a different profession…”

“My father, I take it?” Bilbo grimaced.

“Indeed. Well while there are those that object, I, for one, am quite happy for you to continue in your current course of being a general nuisance to the Sackvilles.”

“Thank you, Grandfather.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Hobson?” Gerontius sighed, looking at the curly head peeking through the door.

“The Spanish Ambassador is demanding an audience,” Hobson said, distaste clear in his tone.

“Again?” he asked, rubbing at his temples in a futile attempt to stave of the impending headache, “That woman might just be the death of me.”

“If she is then maybe we can string her up for treason?” Bilbo suggested with a shrug, earning himself a bark of laughter from his grandfather.

“Oh, lad, how you lighten the spirit.”

“Speaking of spirits, if you need something to placate her, I’ve got some lovely Spanish wine stashed in Grey Friars,” Bilbo offered, smirk twitching his lips.

“I might just take you up on that off just to see the look on Lobelia’s face,” Gerontius chuckled as he levered himself out of the chair, his stiff old joints practically groaning with the movement, “I hope you realise I blame your father’s family for bringing that damned woman to my Court.”

“I think you’ll find we _all_ blame Longo for mixing with the Spanish,” Bilbo snorted, heading out of the door with his grandfather, “I’ll have some of that wine sent.”

“Safe travels, my lad,” Gerontius smiled, clapping Bilbo on the shoulder, “Try not to get into _too_ much trouble, ay?”

“I make no promises, Your Majesty,” Bilbo smiled, sweeping an exaggerated bow before turning on his heel and leaving his grandfather to deal with the shark infested waters of the Royal Court.

-x-

A contented sigh escaped his lips once he stepped aboard _The Bag End_ , the gentle rocking of the vessel in the waters of the Thames soothing as the sturdiness of land never was.

“Back already, Captain?”

“Still here, Hamfast?” Bilbo countered, smiling at his ship’s cook and surgeon.

“Someone needed to stay behind,” Hamfast shrugged, “Besides, I’ve a ship to restock and that’s far more interesting a task than getting drunk in some seedy establishment.”

“Tenacious as a barnacle, aren’t you Hamfast?” Bilbo chuckled.

“Someone has to be, Captain. Also your father’s here, I’ve set him up with a nice red in your cabin.”

“Thank you for the warning, I best go and see what he wants.”

Taking a fortifying breath, Bilbo squared his shoulders and headed for the emerald green door to his cabin.

“Father, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I hear tell that you once again avoided a conviction with the Court of Admiralty,” Bungo Baggins said, absently swirling the wine in his glass as he flipped through Bilbo’s log book.

“Yes, the Court ruled the allegations as false.”

“And was that luck or influence?”

“Both perhaps. Why are you here, father?”

“Why must you continue on with this ridiculousness? If you want to captain a ship then I can give you command of any of the merchant vessels at my disposal, you can still sail to the New World, but at least this way you can do it legally, safely.”

“I enjoy what I do, father, and with my Letter of Marque, signed by grandfather’s own hand might I add, what I do _is_ legal.”

“But you’re a Baggins, for Yavanna’s sake! A Baggins does not go off adventuring, gallivanting around the world like it’s naught but a trip to Cambridge. At thirty-three you should be settling down, planning a family and taking on responsibilities. Have you even given a thought to a future spouse?”

“I’ll marry when I’m good and ready, if I ever marry at all! You forget, father, I might be a Baggins but I’m also a Took.”

“A fool of a Took, make no mistake.”

“Perhaps, but it was the foolhardiness of the Tooks that allowed them to take the throne, and it is the same that urges me onwards now.”

“Is there truly no way to convince you to take up a different profession?”

“No, there is not.”

“Then I suppose it is time for me to take my leave,” Bungo sighed.

“Indeed. Please give my love to mother.”

“She’d much prefer it if you came home to tell her yourself,” Bungo pointed out, hand resting on the door.

“I’ll visit Hobbiton when I can,” Bilbo offered.

“Take care, my son.”

“Goodbye, father.”

“Captain?” Hamfast head popped through the doorway some minutes after Bungo’s departure.

“You don’t happen to have any more of that wine on hand, do you Hamfast?” Bilbo asked, voice muffled from his face resting in his hands where he’d slumped in the chair at his desk.

“That bad, Captain?”

“That bad, Hamfast.”

-x-

 _The Bag End_ and her crew spent another three days in London before all business had been conducted, the ship restock, and the crew suitably sobered. On the morning of the fourth day, they set sail.

Bilbo stood on the deck, hands clasped behind his back, Primula manning the wheel beside him. With his eyes closed, he felt the moment the wind caught in the sails and guided them down the Thames.

“Take us somewhere interesting, Prim,” he sighed, tense shoulders relaxing as the breeze swept his curls about.

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'a bale of gourds with as many high men as low men for passage' - a set of dice used to cheat, 'gourds' means that the dice were hollowed out on one side, the 'high men' and 'low men' suggest which numbers the alter dice were most likely to land on.  
> 'Tookhall' is this verses substitute to Whitehall.  
> The Tooks have taken the place of the Tudors, the Baggins were the Plantagenets, and the Sackvilles are the royal family of Spain. I've explained a little about this over on [tumblr](http://sarcasticsmilerrandomness.tumblr.com/post/143548660332/how-to-explain-the-sackville-baggins-relation-when)  
> Any questions please ask and I'll try and answer.
> 
> Next chapter will introduce Thorin. Gimme maybe about a week to get it written as I'm still sorting out the backgrounds of a few of them.  
> On a side note - though he won't be wearing one in this fic, I dare you to imagine Thorin wearing a big Elizabethan ruff and not laugh, go on, dare you.


	2. Part Two: Introduction to Thorin ap Thrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction to Thorin and some of his crew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took longer than expected, apologies for that.
> 
> In this Fili is about 17/18, and Kili is about 16.
> 
> Also, technically, they're all speaking Welsh.
> 
> Additional explanations will be in the end notes.

The setting sun glinted off the deceptively calm waters of the Menai Straits. Sailors, bustling about like busy worker bees, squinted from the glare as they loaded up the waiting ships, checking for leaks, and refreshing the water barrels.

It was a beautiful evening to be outside, a slight lingering warmth to the air as the rain mercifully kept to the mountains. A gentle sea tinged breeze helping cool those running around the docks, heaving cargo and coiling the thick, coarse ships’ rope.

Thorin ap Thrain stood outside Beaumaris’ tavern, a mug of ale in hand as his eyes drifted over the mountain peaks on the mainland. Their solid presence a comfort and promise of protection that had held for centuries before the English forced their way through, overrunning his beloved country. Leaning against the tavern’s stone wall, Thorin took a hearty swig of ale, washing away the bitter taste of unfulfilled dreams and flimsy prophecy of a Wales free from England’s grip.

“Thorin?”

“Dis,” Thorin grunted, “I expected you sooner.”

“Some of us have business to attend to before we go gallivanting off to the tavern,” Dis scowled at her brother, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders against the cooling breeze.

“My business was _at_ the tavern.”

“Hmm, the business of thieves and scoundrels.”

“Of deckhands and labour, actually,” Thorin corrected with an exasperated sigh.

“Call them what you will, Thorin, but I know what they do. _Must_ you involve my boys in such a nasty business?”

“They’re old enough to make their own decisions, Dis.”

“They’re still children, Thorin!”

“Bollocks,” Thorin snorted.

“A male disease I thankfully don’t suffer from,” Dis snapped in return.

“Dis…”

“No, Thorin, why can’t you send them to school. To Oxford or Cambridge?”

“I’ll not send your sons into that nest of vipers,” Thorin stood suddenly, as immovable as the mountains in the distance, “I’ll not send them there to be ridiculed and beaten, they’ll be safer at sea.”

“Being shot at by cannon fire? The sea is a cruel mistress, brother, the laws of the English even more so.”

“It’ll be fine. Just a short trip to the Bristol Channel and back again. You can’t keep them locked up inside forever.”

“Promise me, Thorin, promise me you’ll bring them home, alive.”

“I will try.”

-x-

It was with a favourable wind that they left port in the early hours of the morning, the great white sails billowing as they cut through the waters of the Menai to the great expanse of the Irish Sea.

Thorin breathed deeply, relishing the salty tang of the air. Beside him his First Mate wobbled, legs still not quite use to the movement of _The Erebor._

“Give it time, lad,” Thorin said, a small smile curving his lips as he clapped Fíli’s shoulder.

“Kíli’s not having any trouble,” Fíli groused, widening his stance to help compensate for the gentle rocking.

“Your brother’s not stood still long enough for it to affect him,” Balin chuckled from his place at the helm, “Like a squirrel in a tree that boy.”

Fíli couldn’t help but smile at the old Quartermaster’s words, watching his little brother clamber up the rigging to the masthead, dark hair already coming free of its tail to whip around his face.

-x-

“I’m up, Mister Dwalin!” Kíli called, looking over the masthead at the Boatswain on the deck below him, “Now what?!”

“Keep your eyes on that horizon, lad!” Dwalin called up, adding quietly, “And keep out from under my feet.”

“Not even a day out and he’s already gettin’ to ya?” Bofur chuckled.

“Too much energy and excitement in that one,” Dwalin grumbled.

“Could always send him to Dori for a bit,” Bofur shrugged, fingers running over a slight fray in the rope he was checking, “Running the guns should wear off some of that energy and teach him a thing or two while he’s at it.”

“You might have an idea there,” Dwalin admitted, clapping Bofur on the shoulder in thanks before heading below deck to have a little talk with their Master Gunner.

-x-

“Fíli,” Kíli groaned, collapsing onto the bench next to his brother and dropping his head on his shoulder, “Fíli, I’m going to die, my arms are going to drop off.”

Fíli snorted, dipping his hunk of bread into his stew.

“You unfeeling cad,” Kíli accused, pouting.

“Eat up lad,” Bombur said, handing Kíli a warm bowl of stew and chunk of bread, “If you’re back with Dori tomorrow you’ll need to keep your strength up.”

“Thanks,” Fíli grinned at the cook while Kíli groaned again, wiggling closer to bury his face in Fíli’s neck.

-x-

“So, Ori lad, how are ya faring?” Balin asked, ducking into the cabin to find Ori frowning down at the maps spread out before him.

“Master Balin,” Ori jumped sending his pencil tumbling to the floor to roll to Balin’s feet.

“Aye, lad, that’ll be me,” Balin smiled, scooping up the pencil and standing beside his apprentice Navigator, “So how’re ya faring, lad?”

“Well, I think, but I can’t quite work out what that symbol is supposed to be.”

“Which symbol is tha….ah, no need to pay it any mind, lad. Seems our esteemed Captain has been at the maps again.”

“Sir?”

“Whatever you hear, my boy, just remember that that man is a navigator’s headache just waiting to hit. Stick him in the mountains and he can lead you straight home, but on the sea? Well, then you hit some problems.”

“What kind of problems?”

“The kind that make you late. I’ve only made the mistake of letting him navigate once. When we were younger and a mite more reputable, we were invited to London. So off we went, a simple journey, do you know why it should’ve been simple?” Balin asked, always eager to teach when the opportunity arose.

“Because all you have to do is follow the coast.”

“Exactly. Thorin, however, got us lost…twice.”

“How?” Ori asked, disbelief clear in his tone as he looked at the maps before him, trying to figure out where the Captain went wrong.

“Well first he got us halfway to Ireland before we realised and turned him back, then you see this island here?” Balin asked, shifting the maps to find the one of the Kentish coast, pointing out an island situated before the River Medway and the Thames Estuary.

“Sheppey?”

“Yes, well he sailed us round the entire thing before I decided enough was enough and banned him from navigating ever again.”

“So the Captain is banned from the maps, he’s not allowed to plan the route, just let us know the final destination and leave us to get him there?” Ori asked.

“Exactly, my lad, we’ll make a navigator out of you yet.”

-x-

After a few of weeks of fair winds and surprisingly good weather, _The Erebor_ finally dropped anchor in a bay near Dale on the Pembrokeshire coast. Her crew quiet in the night, playing dice or sleeping while the ship creaked around them.

Thorin’s eyes scanned the coastline, keeping watch for a single figure.

His nephews sat on the deck beside his feet, slumped together as they dozed, their youthful stamina not quite enough to keep up with his more experienced watchfulness.

_There._

A shadow moving on the shore, a boat cutting through the surf, oars silent as the grave.

Thorin nudged Fíli’s thigh with his boot, “Up you get, lads.”

Blinking blearily up at his uncle, Fíli nodded before gently waking his brother.

“Wha?” Kíli yawned, hair sticking up where he’d fidgeted against Fíli’s shoulder.

“Nori’s coming back,” Fíli said, leaning closer to quietly add, “And you’ve drool sliding down your chin.”

-x-

“Nori,” Dwalin grunted as he helped the smaller man aboard.

“Dwalin,” Nori grinned, pressing closer to the muscular Boatswain than was truly appropriate, “Did you miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head.”

“Nori!” Thorin called.

“Another time, bos’n,” offering a mocking bow, Nori sauntered across the deck to the Captain.

“What news?”

“Well, _The Greenwood_ is setting out in two days’ time. For _The Rivendell_ you’ll be waiting another month and they’re intending on heading to Cardiff first before making the crossing to Bristol.”

“ _The Greenwood,_ what’s she carrying?”

“Mainly wool and wheat this time, we’ll probably be better off going after her on the return journey. Thranduil’s wine stores are running low and you know how he likes the good stuff from Gascony.”

“Then we’ll lie in wait and take her on her return.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, Thranduil’s been alienating the locals, finding cheaper labour with the Flemish. _Greenwood_ ’s crew are becoming less enamoured with their employer by the day, they’ve taken to calling the ship _The Mirkwood_.”

“Trust Thranduil to abandon his own,” Thorin snorted, “Discover anything else of note?”

“Seems the black sails of the Corsairs of Umbar have been spotted in the Channel again, it’s gotten some of the merchants in a right state.”

“If we leave them alone then they’ll leave us alone,” Thorin decided, not overly worried about the pirates from the North African coast, “They’ll be after the gold ships coming from Bristol, our intended prize should be too small for them to consider.”

“If you say so, Captain. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some sleep to catch up on and a brother to convince I’m back in one piece.”

Thorin waved his spy away already turning to discuss their plan of action with Balin.

-x-

Nori sat on a crate on _The Erebor_ ’s small gun deck, eyes turned skywards as he prayed to which ever Valar would listen for patience while his brother fretted over him. Tutting over every little scrape to his skin, muttering over every little tear in his clothing.

It often came as a surprise to those that didn’t know the stocky Master Gunner, but the man was a complete and utter mother hen, especially when it came to his brothers. Nori was convinced the only reason he’d joined Thorin’s crew was to keep an eye on himself and Ori.

“I’m fine, Dori,” he huffed, earning himself a glare.

“I’ve not seen you for _weeks_. The Valar only knows what you’ve been up to while we sailed home.”

“I’ve been doing my _job_ , Dori.”

“And a fine job it is to, sneaking around and getting into everyone’s business. You’ve not been eating properly either, I’d wager. You’d be nothing but skin and bones if I left you to your own devices for too long,” Dori nattered on.

“I’m going to sleep,” Nori declared, quickly standing from the crate.

“No, you’re going to see Bombur first to get some cheese and hard biscuits,” Dori ordered, hands clamping on his brother’s slim shoulders to lead him to Bombur’s kitchen instead of Nori’s much desired hammock.

-x-

They waited a week for _The Greenwood_ ’s return.

Attacking just as the overcast sky released its burden.

Nori’s prediction of an easy fight was right, the crew having surrendered within minutes, dropping their weapons to the rain splattered deck.

“Thorin,” _The Greenwood_ ’s captain growled.

“Tauriel,” Thorin greeted.

“There are other ships to plunder, you bloody pirate, why must you always come after mine?”

“True, there are other ships, and we do take them when the fancy strikes us,” Thorin mused before turning a sharp smile on the beaten captain, “But only yours gives me both the pleasure of plunder and the satisfaction of vexing Thranduil so greatly.”

Tauriel merely glared at Thorin’s words, settling back on her heels, refusing to be so undignified as to struggle against the rope tying her hands behind her back. She’d been boarded by Thorin’s crew enough times to know such an endeavour would be pointless.

Smirking at the stubborn captain, Thorin left her and her crew in Balin’s capable hands. Instead joining Dwalin as he supervised the movement of cargo from _The_ _Greenwood_ to _The Erebor_.

“A nice haul this time,” Dwalin said, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed Fíli and Kíli carrying a barrel of wine between them, “Should get a nice price for most of it.”

“Most of it?”

“There’s a few new spices in there that Dis might like, some linen too.”

“Far be it from me to return without a gift for her,” Thorin said, clapping Dwalin’s shoulder and wincing when his nephews stumbled on the rain slicked boards, “Store them safely and perhaps she won’t take a blade to us after her boys throw themselves overboard.”

“Mister Dwalin? Uncle?” Kíli called, squinting through the rain over his brother’s shoulder.

“Yes, Kíli?”

“What’s that?”

-x-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right. here we go;  
> \- 'ap' means 'son of', the Welsh were kind of like Dwarves in that they didn't really have surnames, instead you were known by your lineage or whatever name you've acquired for yourself, like 'the good' or Oakenshield.  
> \- The places mentioned (expect Umbar) are all real places, Dale exists - I was originally going to have them closer to Cardiff, but once I realised there was a place called Dale, well, they just had to go there instead.  
> \- The whole sailing round the Isle of Sheppey part, that has happened in real life and not that long ago actually, I just had to add it as I can honestly see Thorin mucking up that badly.  
> \- There really were North African pirates in the Bristol Channel in Tudor times, they terrified the merchants and seemed to be damn good at what they did.  
> \- Oxford and Cambridge could be truly horrible places, animosity could run high between the different students. There were four different factions from what I understand - Southern English, Northern English, Welsh, and Scottish - and basically God help you if you weren't a Southerner. There's actually one letter I remember reading from a father to his son, telling him not to speak Welsh, nor associate with other Welshmen, lest he be targeted, instead he was to basically abandon his heritage and act like a Southern Englishman in a bid to protect himself and gain future prospects. Fights were common, pretty sure the Southerners, while allying with the Northerners for a time, set fire to the Welshmen's dorm. Basically, Southern English? We're a bunch of arseholes. (I have said 'basically' far too often in this point...oops)  
> \- I know pretty much jack about ships and sailing so google has been my guide in this, which likely means somethings aren't quite time appropriate. Apologies for that.  
> \- Oh also I feel the need to point out that Welshwomen are bloody terrifying, seriously don't cross a Welshwoman, they will destroy you (if you don't cross them though, they can be absolute sweethearts).
> 
> Any questions feel free to ask.
> 
> I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, its broken and doesn't flow properly in my opinion, I prefer my first chapter but then I had less people to introduce. And I'm sorry for the rather anti-climactic 'fight', I hit a blank on it, hopefully I'll do better next time.


End file.
